The ride in Bruce's limo was one of the most awkward moments of Michael's life.
Way to impress your new employer, by French-kissing the woman he loves as a daughter in front of him.
But frankly, the very memory put such a beam on Michael's face, it was worth every second of sitting in silence opposite Bruce as the limo drove him home.
"I'll be in touch," Bruce said when they were getting close.
"Of course. Listen –" Michael licked his lips. Bad move. The feel of Sara's tongue against them was fresh enough that it distracted him horribly. "I want you to know how grateful I am for what you've done."
"Please, let's speak no more of it." The car stopped. Still, to just get on his feet and leave would make him feel like a thief, so he waited until Bruce said, "Have a nice evening, Michael. Try to sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."
Michael got out of the car and walked up the five floors to his apartment as in a dream. The stairs might as well have been of molten wax for all the time it took him. In the car, for Bruce's sake, Michael had managed to keep his mind in focus, but now his thoughts turned completely to his last moments with Sara.
The fear to lose her simultaneous with kissing her again was too overwhelming for Michael. Like when he was a boy, and the sight of a Van Gogh sent him musing for hours.
Strangely enough, no thoughts of regret assailed him.
He didn't think of all he should have done different, didn't think he should have never married Nika. Nika had avoided deportation thanks to their marriage, and what right had Michael to put his own feelings ahead of her life?
Besides, he had known in the way Sara kissed him that his marriage didn't mean anything to her. Somehow, the message had passed between them without words, like crossing wires.
And he didn't doubt that although her shooting had not melted the mountains between them, he would be with her again.
Somehow. Someday.
Soon.
He pushed open the door of his apartment and blinked himself out of his thoughts. His brother was sitting on the couch, opposite Nika. Next to him was a black-haired woman with strikingly white skin and green eyes.
"Hello," Michael said.
In his normal state, he would have known what to do. To pull Linc into a hug, or ask who the young woman was.
But he was still like a child walking home after a day at the museum, his mind whirling with dark beauties from the past.
"Your brother came with his girlfriend," Nika said. "I made them coffee."
"Thanks. You have a girlfriend?" Michael looked at Lincoln though their eyes didn't quite connect.
"You have a wife?" Lincoln returned.
"Uh – yeah. I'll explain."
"Look," Lincoln said, "we can come back later if you want. I mean tomorrow. It's already late."
"Sure," Michael managed. "Yeah, sure that'd be –"
"Michael, don't be rude to your brother," Nika said. "I'm starving. Let's go out for dinner."
…
Lincoln nodded along when the group moved into a Japanese restaurant a few streets away, even though he hated sushi. It was so goddamn cold, the wind biting into his cheeks, his toes already frozen inside his shoes, that he didn't really care what they ate for dinner.
An oriental music greeted them and they sat in a booth by the window. Lincoln tried to pretend his shoes didn't stick to the floor in loud squeesh sounds. The two couples sat one in front of the other, and Lincoln stared at Michael's wife – Nika – despite himself.
The sight of her was more numbing than the cold outside.
"So, you live in Chicago?" Nika asked.
Lincoln managed to pull himself out of his thoughts. "Yes."
"And what do you do?"
"I work in a restaurant."
Irritation clung to his throat. Sara had just been shot. How could they all just sit there holding a menu as sticky as the floor, pretending everything was fine? And how the hell could Michael be married?
Seeing that Lincoln kept silent, Veronica made conversation. "What do you do?"
"For a living?" Nika said. "I dance."
"Really? What kind of dancing?"
A waitress came with alcohol-free cocktails that glowed bright red at the bottom and orange at the top. Litchis floated at the surface of the glass like eyeballs.
Nika didn't answer the question.
It was a blessing Lincoln had brought Vee after all, because she managed to bring the evening all the normal it could possibly boast. She talked with Nika pleasantly, without quizzing Michael about his vigilante-lawyer skills even a little. Michael sat silent as a tomb and didn't touch his plate or his glass. At some point, Nika excused herself to the bathroom and only the ambient noise of chatter and music filled the table.
"Well," Veronica said, "I have to make a phone call. Excuse me a sec."
She walked outside the restaurant, and the two brothers looked at each other. Lincoln knew this was Vee's way of giving them some time alone, and God knew they needed it. But where to start, when his brother hadn't even bothered to mention that he was married?
"It's a green card thing," Michael said. "Nika. She would have been deported back to her country."
"She's really pretty."
Lincoln almost expected a flash of anger to cross Michael's features. But he just went on looking at Lincoln, like he failed to see a connection.
"I saw Sara," he said. "She's okay."
"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were married."
Michael sighed. "It was nothing. Nika needed a green card."
"What did you get out of it?"
"I helped someone. Can we move on, Linc?"
"I just – I would have come."
"There was no point."
Lincoln lowered his eyes to the plump rolls of rice and seaweed.
"Veronica seems nice."
"I told her about you." Silence settled. Lincoln met Michael's eyes. "I know I shouldn't have."
"You have a right to let people in."
"You aren't mad?"
"Someone shot Sara in the chest and almost killed her. I'm furious."
"You don't look it."
"I never do."
"Do you have a plan?"
"Find out who did this to her."
"And then?"
Michael took the cocktail to his lips and winced. Too sugary, Lincoln figured. He wished he and Michael were in his old apartment, drinking something stronger. Yes, getting drunk would shatter the awkwardness between them, at least for a time. Lincoln craved to feel close to Michael again, craved the effortless joy they used to bring each other just by hanging out, watching TV, talking little.
"Then I bring them to justice."
"Jesus, Mike. Can I help?"
He tried not to show how desperate that last question felt.
Let him use me. Please God, let him find some use for me.
Michael's eyes stared back at him, the same blue and unsettling eyes that had looked alien on his face when he was still a child.
"You don't have to keep paying for what you've done to me and Sara," he said. "I forgive you, Linc."
Lincoln's mouth opened but no sound came out. Only that insufferable music playing overly loud.
"Mike –"
"It was a long time ago. You did everything you could to make up for it. If you could cut off your arm to take it back, I know you would. Stop hating yourself for it. I don't hate you. I could never hate you. And even if I could, life's too short, and I'd still choose not to hate you."
Lincoln didn't breathe. Was this the moment when the burden of guilt rolled off his chest like a huge rock, the moment when he started to live again, to forgive himself?
"What are you trying to say?" Lincoln asked.
"What I said."
"If you're going to launch yourself into a new plan, then I'm in, man. Anything I can do."
"You can go back to Chicago and be happy."
Could he?
The black bile in the back of his throat didn't think so.
"Go back to your job. To your girl. You love her, Linc?"
"Yes."
"Then start a life with her. You don't have to keep fighting my battles."
"I want to."
"No. You need to. And I'm telling you to stop."
High heels on the sticky floor made their way back to the table. Nika scooted over on the seat next to Michael. "It's getting late," she said. "I'm going to head back."
Lincoln's eyes didn't move from Michael's face. He didn't care that he was being rude, didn't care that Veronica was freezing her ass outside all so he and Michael could be alone. Right at this moment, he only cared about the brother he'd let down so many times, he couldn't keep count on the fingers of both hands. The brother who had just rejected his help. The brother he'd betrayed.
"Am I interrupting?" Nika said.
"A little," Michael admitted.
"Okay. I'll take Veronica back to the apartment so you two can finish."
"We're finished," Michael said.
"Why are you doing this?" Lincoln managed. His throat tightened around the words. The very weird possibility that tears might spill from his eyes crossed his mind, absurd and terrifying.
"Because I love you," Michael said. "And you have to start living for yourself. You have to move on."
He got to his feet. Lincoln longed to spring out of the booth, but his legs stayed planted on the ground like roots.
Michael extended his hand over to him, and before he could think of what it meant, Lincoln took it.
A flash of current ran through his arm, throughout his body. "I love you, Michael."
"I know."
The chatter from the restaurant, the music, the red-lighted walls – all seemed to disappear around the brothers, so there was only their clasped hands, their eyes locked.
The wires had crossed.
…
End Notes: Please share your thoughts in the comment section. Take care!
